Losstarot
by Bleys Maynard
Summary: Based on The Gamer\'s Alliance. After Yurius was banished, the world tried to forget about Sydney Losstarot. But some of Sydney\'s male offspring escaped death at his hands...
1. Default Chapter

Losstarot  


_By Bleys J. Maynard

* * *

_

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What has gone before

Losstarot. It was a name to inspire fear and terror, not only in children, but in those adults who knew the truth, for generations after his death. Although Sydney Losstarot had used many women like toys, and fathered many children, he systematically hunted down and slew any of his offspring in fear that one day, they might challenge him for the leadership of his empire. The man had shook the world on its foundations, and cast the nations into a global war, and had worked with the child-demon Yurius. Even after Losstarot's death, Yurius continued to prosecute his war, until an allied magus finally sealed him into a different plane. But that sealing was not without its price. The force of magic worked in the sealing caused the continents to shift, nations to break, and the Floating Continent of Alent to come crashing into the sea. From that day, new nations were born, and everybody tried to forget Sydney Losstarot. Almost everybody.

The magus who sealed Yurius away told almost nobody the final words of the child-demon, and never even wrote it in his personal journal:

__

You may think yourselves the victors, but this battle is far from done. Even now, I've set events in motion which will seal the doom of the earth. After Sydney's death, I located a homeless child whom he'd fathered. I put my mark upon the boy. For as long as it takes, Sydney will be born and reborn into that line, the line of direct succession, and when I walk this earth again, so shall he.

The magus, and those who came after him, sought the child for the rest of their days. They searched desperately, for their chance to avert Yurius's dark prophecy. Over the world, they searched for the son of Sydney Losstarot, but they never found him.

What many didn't know was that more than one son of Sydney Losstarot had survived. A child untouched by Yurius, and unknown by the allies. That line continued unbroken as well, and one thousand years after the Losstarot War, another direct descendent of Sydney Losstarot named Anoki Lain was instrumental in the defeat of Yurius after the return he'd foretold in his sealing. Thus, Yurius was prevented from uniting with the other descendent of Losstarot whom he'd prepared with such care after the death of the original.

This is the story of the line that overcame the darkness of Sydney Losstarot, and bred Anoki Lain.


	2. Arnaud

Losstarot  
_by Bleys J. Maynard_

* * *

_This work of fanfiction is intended to be an altiverse, not part of the official tGA history. Future members of the Gamer's Alliance Council need not ask permission to adopt this work into the tGA history; it is granted by this disclaimer_

_Arnaud_

Arnaud double-timed his trip home from school. It wasn't because his mother was sick, although Arnaud cherished Marthe Lain as none of the other kids his age did, but it was also because he really, _really_ had to pee.

The snow fell early in the north of Miletos, as Lea Monde had come to be called since the Sealing of Yurius. The adults were careful to say Miletos when there were people listening, but the old name was still passed to and fro amongst the teenagers and children in hushed tones. Arnaud didn't think it mattered. More and more families were moving away from Lea Monde as time went on. Nobody wanted to be reminded of the war that they'd lost, but the snow was an everpresent reminder. Nowhere else in the world had snow this early, not even in the northern parts of Adlehyde. Nobody had explained it to Arnaud, but there were whispers that _he_ had done something to the weather with his magic, and the land had still not recovered. Arnaud didn't ask who _he_ was. There was only one man it could be. 

The snow was a reminder of Losstarot, but it was the melted snow that ran along the well-travelled path that was a reminder to Arnaud, a reminder about his bladder. He wasn't going to make it, he decided. He gazed along the path in both directions, and seeing nobody, dashed into the forest alongside the path and urinated against the trunk of a leafbarren maple. He was just shaking out the last couple of drops when he heard a voice behind him. 

"Hey! Arnaud!" There was no mistaking the voice. It was Christy Garrick, a classmate of Arnaud's with a reputation for mischief. Hurriedly he laced up his trousers, wondering if the little minx was trying to peek. 

"Christy, right?" he asked. He knew who she was, of course; Arnaud never forgot a name. Still, it wouldn't hurt for her to think herself unremarkable in his eyes. 

She just nodded. "Yeah. Look, I saw how Roger Delmour pushed you into that puddle so you'd splash Master Almein. I just happen to know that Roger'll be up for Demonstration in Sorcery tomorrow. I was kind of wondering if you'd be interested in a little bit of revenge?" 

In spite of himself, Arnaud grinned. Roger had been tormenting him for a long time. It would be good to show the little brat up for a change. "What did you have in mind?" he asked? 

"Walk with me," Christy said with an impish grin, "We'll talk." 

It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. 

#

Arnaud and Christy lie together on their backs, gazing at the stars. It was the fourth anniversary of their meeting on the forest path, when Christy had offered Arnaud revenge. Arnaud always remembered the day with a smile. After that, Roger had gone from adversary to close friend, and Christy had gone from friend to something more. Arnaud never knew when the transition between friend and lover came between him and Christy, and he'd long since given over trying to get her to tell him. They were seventeen, and Arnaud wished the moment could go on forever. 

"Did you hear about Cardia?" asked Christy. 

Arnaud sighed. "It had to happen some day, I suppose. Still, King Britton couldn't have been more than fifty. It strikes me as fishy that he died so soon." 

"And the other King hasn't been heard from in years," mused Christy. 

Arnaud nodded. "It probably was foul play, but there's no clear successor, so nobody knows where to look for suspects--or to whom to entrust the investigation." 

"I bet King Damien could ferret out the truth," 

Arnaud just laughed. The Cardians would never swallow their pride enough to ask the King of Miletos for any sort of help. Many in Cardia still saw Miletos as the enemy, though Sydney Losstarot was fifteen years in his grave. 

"So many strange happenings," sighed Christy. "The King of Adlehyde has been missing since the end of the war, but nobody there seems to care. Each City-State is only concerned with what's going on inside its own walls. There's _still_ no government in Alent, because the people are too afraid. What, do they think the island's going to fall _again?_ Where would it go? There is no Zeal or Eblana anymore, and now the Kings of Cardia are out of the picture. Sometimes I think things would have been better if Sydney had won. At least then it wouldn't be anarchy." 

Arnaud winced. "Don't say that so loud. Do you want to be thrown in jail?" 

Christy laughed. "When I was in Adlehyde, they talked about Sydney all of the time." 

"Adlehyde was an ally of Cardia. There's no Mullencamp in Adlehyde. They take talk of Losstarot more seriously here." 

"Well, maybe we should forget about one man and think as a country again," said Christy stubbornly. Forget Lea Monde and focus on being Miletos. Maybe the Mullencamp are right, in a way. Maybe Miletos can provide stability in this mad world. We can't just sit and expect Cardia to tell us what to do." 

"Hush," said Arnaud, "There's no need of this sort of talk. Everything should work out fine." 

Arnaud closed his eyes, but sleep was long in coming. Talk of war always stirred something in him; something he didn't like. When he'd been but a child, he, too, had hoped that King Damien would be a strong King, so that Miletosians would not need to hang their heads in shame just for being Miletosians. He'd hoped that someone would finally declare war on Miletos so that Miletos could win, and the people could have some pride. He'd been in a heated argument with some of his playmates, and he'd had this same feeling. Arnaud didn't remember what happened after that, but when he recovered consciousness, the house they'd been in was gone, burned to a crisp, and all of the kids except him were dead. His mother had said the house had burned to the ground in under two minutes. Arnaud didn't have a scratch. 

They'd moved away after that, to the other side of Miletos, to get away from prying eyes and prying questions, but Arnaud had never forgotten. That sort of talk made bad things happen. Arnaud didn't want to have to leave again. He'd lose Christy, and he couldn't bear that thought. 

#

Christy set the baby back in his cradle and backed away, motioning for silence. 

"He's finally gone to sleep. Our little Rhys," she whispered as she and Arnaud crept back to the kitchen. 

"We should get a nanny," said Christy. "You're away working all day, and I have...my friends." 

Christy's friends made Arnaud uneasy. They all watched Arnaud out of the corner of their eyes while pretending not to. He wondered what they thought he was. No matter, though; how Christy spent her days was none of his business. 

"I've an idea about the nanny," he said. There was a homeless waif around the tannery to whom Arnaud had occasionally donated a coin, when he could afford it. Arnaud was afraid that she had to rely on prostitution to make her way in the world. Unfortunate circumstances notwithstanding, Marya had a motherly look to her. Without understanding how, Arnaud knew that she would be good with a child. 

"Have you heard the latest out of Adlehyde?" Christy suddenly asked. 

Arnaud winced. He'd come to dread the light that came into Christy's eyes when she spoke politics. He knew what she meant, however. "The dissolutionists are probably right," he muttered. "It's been almost thirty years since the war, and no sign of King Daventhalas. He _is_ probably dead. Still, I don't see why Adlehyde can't appoint a council like the Cardians have." 

"It's specifically _because_ of Cardia," Christy said absently, "Britt died ten years ago, and the Provisional Government still hasn't chosen a new king. They don't want to lose power." 

"But the other King could still live..." said Arnaud. 

"He's been missing almost as long as Daventhalas," countered Christy. 

Arnaud wasn't convinced. Nobody could seem to remember the old King's name, nor think it odd that the name eluded their memory. Arnaud wasn't sure why he alone realized it, but it was indicative to him. It smacked of a geis, and if the geis was still in force, that meant the geis-caster was still alive. No mage in history, including Losstarot, had the power to enforce a geis that persisted after his own death." 

"Think of the opportunity, Arnaud. If King Damien were to step in in Adlehyde, he could take over in no time." 

Arnaud shook his head. "It would be war. People would die, and to what end?" 

"To what end? Look around you, Arnaud. Twenty-seven years since the war, and Miletos is still nothing more than a defeated state. At one stroke, Damien could expand Miletos, provide stability and security to Adlehyde, give Miletos something to be proud of, and rise as a power to balance Cardia." 

"And if the nations united? They'd see Losstarot in any aggressive action by Miletos." 

"What nations? Alent is still mostly unreclaimed. Cardia's in chaos. Zeal and Eblana are gone, and in their place, what has risen? This new nation of Silecia that relies on trade from Adlehyde and Cardia, and those elves planting trees in Thracia. Do you see elves and merchants as threats? The Alent are little better than savages, scraping out a living off of the land." 

"But King Damien won't do it. The stakes are too high." 

"If he won't do it, Arnaud...perhaps someone else will. Perhaps someone else..." 

Arnaud shivered inwardly, and wondered what kind of world Rhys had been born into. 

#

Arnaud crumpled the summons in his fist. "Mullencamp," he snarled. All along, Christy had been involved with _them_. 

Marya looked startled, cradling Rhys in her arms. 

"They still exist?" she asked, breathlessly 

Arnaud nodded. "Christy was arrested on charges of being a Mullencamp member." 

"But surely she'll be aquitted..." said Marya hopefully. 

She wouldn't be, Arnaud knew. All of her political notions, all along, had been planted there by the Mullencamp. It was too pat. The Christy he'd married was a trickster and a joker, with no care for glory or power. The Mullencamp explained it all. 

Marya gasped. "She's guilty, isn't she?" 

Arnaud nodded. 

"What are you going to do?" 

Arnaud's face was grim. It didn't matter if Christy was Mullencamp. He still loved her. 

"Marya," he said, "Take Rhys and leave Miletos. Go somewhere safe, where nobody's ever heard of Arnaud or Christy Lain." 

"You mean to rescue her." It was not a question. 

"She's Mullencamp, sure enough--but I don't care. If they've harmed her..." Arnaud was startled to see a wreath of flame leap to life around his clenched fist. There had been other times, after the fire when he was a child, when his magic had seemed to act on its own, and it was always with fire. 

Marya's eyes widened when she saw his burning fist. "You..." 

"Just get Rhys clear," growled Arnaud, and he walked off into the night 

* * *

Arnaud didn't knock. He kicked the door down. This was the clubhouse where Christy had spent her days. A dark-haired man shot to his feet and started to shout angrily, but the blood drained out of his face when he saw Arnaud. 

"You're Mullencamp," he said, "And that's why my wife was arrested." 

Other Mullencamp members began filing into the foyer, drawn by the sound of the door crashing down. 

"What of it?" sneered the dark-haired man, regaining some of his composure. 

"You got her into this, and now you're going to help me get her out." 

"You think we have the resources to break out any one of us who is foolish enough to get caught?" demanded the dark-haired man. 

"I don't care about your resources. You're going to help." 

The dark-haired man started to retort, but a quiet voice from the back cut his words off before they were spoken. 

"Do you have the key, Arnaud Lain?" 

"The key?" 

"There is a room in the cellar here, which was sealed off by Master Losstarot. Perhaps it contains things that will help us restore Miletos to glory. Open the door, and our aid is yours." 

"A door? That's all? Show me your door, Mullencamp." 

The Mullencamp cultists spoke no word as the quiet man lead Arnaud into the cellars. A massive oaken double-door stood on one wall, kept well polished by the Mullencamp over the twenty-seven years since Yurius had been sealed away. There was no visible keyhole. 

"This is the door that has defeated the mighty Mullencamp for almost thirty years?" asked Arnaud quietly. Making noise in this place seemed almost a sacrilege. The quiet man simply nodded. Arnaud grinned inwardly. Sacrilege or no, it was time to make some noise. 

Arnaud lifted his arm forward and held his hand palm-first towards the door. All of the anger, rage, and hatred that he'd kept bottled up inside him throughout his life came bubbling forth. Instead of trying to push it back, he drew it forth. More anger. More still. All of it. Flames leaped to life in Arnaud's hand and shot towards the wooden doors. The flames themselves were different from normal fire. All of the colours of the rainbow flashed through the flames. To Arnaud it was...beautiful, even more so than normal fire. The door vanished as though it had never been there, not even leaving ash behind. 

"That's the door you couldn't open, eh?" said Arnaud, feeling smug. He wanted to call the fire forth again. It had felt wonderful. He wanted to see the flames surge in their multicolored wonder. The wood of the door hadn't burned at all. Maybe it hadn't had enough vitality. Arnaud wondered if a living thing might burn better, but he shook his head to dispel the thought. He couldn't do that. Never something living. 

The quiet man smiled brightly. "Many of us have tried to blast the door down with magic before. Always, the door has resisted it. It was keyed to open at the touch of only one sort of magic. Your magic, Arnaud Lain. Or perhaps I should say, Arnaud Losstarot." 

Arnaud opened his mouth to protest, but something in his soul said that this was right. Arnaud Losstarot. It had a nice ring to it. 

* * *

Arnaud and his Mullencamp stormed through the guardhouse. Kingsmen leaped to do battle with them, but the Mullencamp scarcely had to lift a finger. Wherever one of Damien's men touched a sword, Arnaud's fire burned them to ash. Even stone would burn, it seemed, if Arnaud willed it. He laughed unselfconsciously as he delved deeper and deeper into the King's dungeons. He'd never felt so alive. 

There. He saw Christy's cell. There were two other women in it, but when he looked them in the eye, they gazed at the floor. They were Mullencamp, of course, and knew Arnaud for who he was. 

Fire wouldn't do for the cell doors, unfortunately. The flames would pass between the bars and hurt Christy. That, he didn't want. Never Christy. Never any of his faithful Mullencamp. Arnaud seized the doors and pulled. Magic roared through his arms, enhancing his strength, and the bars were shorn out of their moorings. Christy got up and ran to him. 

"Arnaud," she wept, "You've finally accepted who you are." 

Arnaud nodded. 

"Master Losstarot?" asked one of the other prisoners who'd been in Christy's cell. 

Arnaud raised one burning fist. "You doubt?" 

The Mullencamper grinned widely. "Glory be yours, Master Losstarot!" 

"Will it be?" asked Christy, "I mean, you've always..." 

Arnaud cut her off. "Damien will never do what must be done. I must do it for him. Adlehyde shall fall." 

Tears of joy welled up in Christy's eyes. "Oh, Arnaud. Think of the glory. We will restore sanity to this broken world. We will make everything right again...we will..." 

Christy cut off with a shocked expression. The smile faded from Arnaud's face as he looked down and saw the arrow sticking out of Christy's belly. Saw the King's archer fitting another arrow. 

The King's archer exploded in a flare of multihued flame. "Destroy everything," he ordered his Mullencampers. "Leave no-one alive. No-one." 

"And the King, Master Losstarot?" asked the quiet man from the clubhouse. 

"Damien is mine and mine alone. He will die when I am ready for him to die." 

"Is that so, Arnaud Losstarot?" asked a voice raging with fury. 

Arnaud looked up to see darts of fire streaking towards him. Absentmindedly, he knocked them out of the air. This had to be Damien. The man was a fool to try to harm a Losstarot with fire. 

"I wasn't aware you had any magic, _Majesty_, snarled Arnaud. I thought you nothing more than a weak fool who sits on his thumbs when he could restore order to the world." 

"I have no magic, Arnaud Losstarot, but my mages do." 

Well, thought Arnaud, the mages would just have to die. He readied his fire, and was shocked when he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. Dozens of mages stepped into the light behind the king. More rushed in from the other side of the corridor. 

"It was a trap all along," said the quiet man, horrified. 

"A trap for you, Sedwin Marrick," replied the King. "We never expected to catch a Losstarot, though. For that, we had to call upon reinforcements, otherwise we'd have caught you sooner." 

Reinforcements. Arnaud's mind raced. What kind of reinforcements could match _his_ power? He scanned through the mages behind Damien, and his eyes settled upon a white-haired man whose face was lined with age. The mage leaned upon a very distinctive staff. "Impossible," Arnaud whispered, "You're suppoded to be dead." Of course, Arnaud knew the man wasn't dead, but he never expected to meet him face-to-face. 

"You know better," rasped the King of Cardia. "I've been hunting you for a long time. It would have saved much had I known your name when you were younger. I could have saved so many lives...but it's over now. I've only become stronger since I fought your father. It's all over, Arnaud Losstarot. 

Arnaud screamed as soldiers seized his arms roughly and dragged him away. Arnaud reached for his power, but the King of Cardia's eyes pursued him, until the soldiers bound his hand and stood him upon a makeshift platform. Arnaud fought wildly as the noose was set around his neck, and then there was nothing underneath him. Air...he needed air. Christy...she had to help him. She'd helped him when they were children. Help... 

The world went dark, and Arnaud Losstarot struggled no more. 


	3. Young Rhys

Losstarot  
_by Bleys J. Maynard_

* * *

_This work of fanfiction is intended to be an altiverse, not part of the official tGA history. Future members of the Gamer's Alliance Council need not ask permission to adopt this work into the tGA history; it is granted by this disclaimer_

_Young Rhys_

Marya was worried, and Rhys had no difficulty telling. Even at the age of ten, he had no trouble reading his guardian's emotions. Something had happened, and it had to do with the black-caped man who'd just left. There had been others, all showing up in the course of the last months. All asking questions about Rhys. He decided that it was time to do something about the bad men. Most ten-year-olds would have been afraid, but Rhys was special. Nothing bad ever happened to Rhys Lain. Rhys had been chosen by God. Rhys didn't know for what purpose God had chosen him, but he trusted that God would make that clear to him when he was old enough. For now, though, someone was frightening Marya. Surely God wouldn't mind if he used his power to protect Marya.

Marya used to smile at Rhys when he talked about God, but of late, she'd become very grave. There were many Gods, she said, and not all of them were nice. Rhys supposed she'd been talking about Chaos, but Rhys wasn't afraid of Chaos. Men had defeated Chaos before. The God of Cardia hadn't openly moved in that conflict, but surely he must have aided. If it seemed strange, well, God moved in mysterious ways. The God of Cardia was a good god, not a bad one like Chaos. God wouldn't stand for men coming around and scaring Marya, even if she didn't believe in him, becaue Marya was a good woman.

Rhys made himself invisible and trailed the black-caped man. Marya always warned Rhys not to do things the other children couldn't do, but it had to be OK if it was to protect her. Rhys never even considered that he was in danger, because God would protect him. Rhys never let his faith in God flag, because he knew that bad things sometimes happened to people who lacked faith. The people of Adlehyde stopped believing that King Daventhalas would come back, and that had made the country fall apart. Now each city-state on that continent owed allegiance only to itself. Such a mighty nation, fallen to dust from lack of faith. Cardia's King was missing, too, but Rhys knew he'd come back. Rhys had to keep the faith, because nobody else believed King Raistlin would return--If Rhys stopped believing, the King wouldn't come back. The King was a hero, who had beat up Sydney Losstarot and Yurius in the war. If the King was around, the bad men in black capes wouldn't come around. Still, Rhys wondered why nobody ever said the King's name. Could it be that some didn't want him to come back? Well, if that was the case, Rhys would believe twice as hard.

The other children made fun of Rhys for believing, but the other children couldn't do things like Rhys could. Rhys supposed God would forgive them; they'd never had proof of His power like Rhys had. The wonderful fire had never saved them from bandits. Rhys still remembered that, although he pretended he didn't, because it upset Marya. She had been travelling to their present home in the west of Cardia, and some men with swords had stopped the wagon. They said they were going to tear off Marya's clothes and do bad things to them, but then the fire came. All of the men with swords died before they could lay a hand on Marya or Rhys. Rhys had just been a baby when it happened, but he'd never forget the fire that had saved them. The fire that God had sent

The black-caped man walked into a nondescript building in the center of town. Rhys slipped in through the window and followed him. Inside, there was an elderly man with white hair, pacing up and down the length of a table, leaning on a wizard's staff.

"Did you find anything out?" asked the old man without looking up to see who'd entered.

"The Aurelac woman won't say anything," replied the black-caped man, "Yet, I'm certain the boy must be the one. He has the same name as Arnaud."

"It's not enough," said the old man dismissively, "There were lots of Lains in Miletos, and even some still in Cardia."

"My liege, why must we move in secret? There are only three of us left. Only reveal yourself, and we can have the answers in days. Days, where we have hunted for years."

The old man looked regretful. "I still have enemies in this world, Ragnar. If I loosed the geas, there would be eyes watching me all of the time. If we're to accomplish anything, we must accomplish it in secret, lest the world panic. What we did with Yurius....it had its price. If there was enough stability in the world, things would be different, of course...but the allies are fallen. I must be careful."

"Enemies? If you were to resume your power, who would be strong enough to harm you? The boy? He's but a child."

"I don't know who they are, yet," replied the old man, "And they were strong enough to kill Britt. That was not easily accomplished."

"Surely, we can do _something_ besides sit!"

"That's enough, Ragnar!" said the old man, finally showing some ire, "That's--" The old man cut off abruptly and gripped his staff.

"What is it, Majesty?" asked Ragnar.

"There's something here...something familiar..." The old man continued to scan the room, and then his gaze settled on Rhys. Rhys tensed, but he knew the old man couldn't see him.

"Careless," muttered the old man, "So careless I couldn't sense it until it was right on top of me. You can come out now, Rhys Lain."

Rhys was shocked. Who was this old man, to pierce the veil of invisibility given to him by God himself? He had only a moment to think, however, before Ragnar launched himself at Rhys. The black-caped man was a little too slow, however, and could only trace the old man's eyes to get an idea of Rhys's location. Rhys dropped the invisibility and leaped aside. If Ragnar drew his sword...

"Enough, Ragnar," said the old man, "There is no call for violence. Not unless there must be."

"You're the one. You've been sending the men who scare Marya."

"I am," said the old man, "but my actions are guided by necessity. Do you know who you are, Rhys Lain? Do you know who I am?"

"I am the one chosen by God," snarled Rhys, "And you're the one who has been troubling good people in their homes."

"A simplistic view, and quite mistaken," said the old man. "Yet I can see where you would see me as a bad person. It doesn't have to be that way, though, if you would co-operate with me."

"And who are you to make demands of me? Who are you, to _dare_ to threaten Marya?"

"My name," replied the old man, "Is Raistlin."

For a time, there was no sound in the building. Finally, Rhys spoke. "You're lying," he whispered, "That can't be. The King is a good man. A Hero. He would never trouble innocent people."

"Innocent people?" replied Raistlin, "Perhaps you are, at that, and for that, I offer you a chance, when others in my employ would see you slain as an act of simple necessity."

Rhys glared back. The King wouldn't make threats like this. It was a lie. It had to be.

"You're still not convinced," observed Raistlin, "It seems it will be necessary to tell you things it would be kinder to keep hidden. Do you remember your father, Rhys Lain? Do you know who your granfather was?"

Rhys shook his head. From his earliest memory, there had only been him and Marya.

"Your grandfather," said Raistlin, "Was a man named Sydney Losstarot."

"Liar!"

Raistlin shook his head. "When I was sealing Yurius, he gave a prophecy. He said he'd marked a son of Sydney Losstarot, and one day, the boy's descendant would rise again and help Yurius rain havoc on the world. Those of us in the sealing agreed that if the world were to learn of it, it would be disaster. With our chosen few assistants, we sought the son of Sydney Losstarot. Britt sat on the Throne of Cardia, and diverted the resources of the nation to assist the search, as much as he could. I searched from the shadows, allowing the world to believe me simply gone, as Daventhalas was. I finally found your father, Arnaud, shortly after you were born. We'd had to track some old stories of unexplained fires, and mysterious disappearances. Arnaud was actually a good man through most of his life, until he came into his power and it twisted him. If I'd found him younger, I could have salvaged him. Perhaps he could have been of benefit to the world...but I did not. We were too slow, and by the time I laid eyes on Arnaud Losstarot, he had already chosen to walk his father's road. We had to capture Arnaud and execute him, or he would have brought war to the world again. Come with me, Rhys, to Miletos. There are no people there anymore. If you will agree to be sealed into Miletos, away from people you could hurt, I will protect you. You can live out your life in peace. If not, however...I will do what I must do to ensure you do not reproduce. I will not have a Losstarot trouble the world again."

Rhys snarled, "Father Resnik warned me about people like you. He said that evil would appear in the guise of good, that it would try to make us believe that it was working for the benefit of mankind. But evil is evil, and _I have been chosen by God!_"

"That," said Raistlin grimly, "Is unfortunate. I don't want to do this to a child...God help me, I don't...but I will not allow another war."

Pain flared in Rhys's body. The old man was trying to kill him. He'd lied, and said that Rhys was the grandson of Evil itself, and now he was trying to kill the one chosen by God. It was unforgivable. Magic coursed through his young body and he hurled all of it at the feeble old man. The old man was strong, almost inhumanly so, but Rhys had God on his side. He could not fail. No matter how much it hurt, he could...not...fail...

Shock flashed across the old man's face. "Impossible," he rasped around fits of coughing, "You cannot be so strong, so soon. I cannot be too old...I cannot--!" Blood dribbled out of the corners of his mouth, and his face showed signs of strain.

Ragnar drew his sword and leaped to the old man's defense, but Rhys diverted a small flow of power, and the black-caped man was reduced to ash. He hardly even noticed the death of the warrior

Rhys hurled magic with all the force his ten-year-old body could produce. Maybe Sydney Losstarot hadn't died. Surely _this man_ was Sydney Losstarot--he was the right age. This had to be what God had chosen Rhys to do. More power. He needed more. He walked forward, still pushing with all of his magic. The old man's magic was a match for this, but his body was feeble. Rhys tore the staff from the old man's fingers and brought it down on his white-capped skull with all of the force he could muster. The old man crumpled to the ground, his magical assault ceasing.

It wasn't enough. Rhys had to be sure. He couldn't fail God in this. Again and again, he brought the crystal-tipped staff down on the old man's head until his clothes were covered with blood and gray matter. Only when he couldn't see any remnants of the old man's face in the battered remains of his skull did Rhys walk away. As he stepped out of the building, it burst into flames, the same multicolored flame that had saved him from bandits when he was just a baby. That fire would consume even stone. People came rushing towards the building, drawn by the flames, so Rhys made himself invisible again, and hobbled home, leaning on the old man's crystal-tipped staff.

The old man had been lying. He _must_ have been.

#

Rhys heard footsteps crunch on the gravel behind him.

_It is time_, he thought, his grip tightening on his sword hilt. The familiar feel of the criscrossing strips of cotton wrapped around the hilt comforted Rhys. The blade was Ryuugumi-made, and those little people in eastern Cardia made only the highest quality weapons. Pivoting on the balls of his feet, he drew the blade in one swift motion. They were both here, both of the men who'd hunted him for the past eight years.

"So you're finally ready to face me." he said quietly.

Angrily, one of the men answered, "It's time for you to answer for your sins, Rhys Losstarot."

"Such bluster," said Rhys, "Sins, you say? I've fought to protect myself and my guardian. Nothing more." Rhys had wanted to hunt these men as they had hunted him, but aggression was not God's way, and as the chosen of God, Rhys had to respect that. Now, however, it would be ended. At long last, it would be ended.

"For the murder of King Raistlin, I sentence you to death!" shouted the black caped men at once, and they rushed him. Rhys calmly sidestepped, using his sword to block the attack of the nearer man, and then launched a counterattack of his own. Steel sheered through flesh and bone, and the first man collapsed. The second wasted no time, attacking before Rhys was able to pull his blade clear. Rhys shied back, not quite fast enough, and felt the steel of his enemy's blade bite into his cheek. He brought his sword up in time to block the followup attack, and kicked his opponent square in the kidneys while their blades were locked. The man doubled over, and Rhys's next attack took his head off. There'd been no need to exercise his power at all. That was important. To rely on another, even God, was weakness, and Rhys felt in his marrow that he could not afford weakness. He wiped his blade clean on the black cape of one of the men and continued towards home.

Marya made a fuss over the cut on his cheek when he got home, of course. Marya sometimes seemed to think Rhys was still a child, even though she scarcely looked any older than he did. In fact, Rhys thought, she was extremely attractive--No. He mustn't think like that. Marya had been like a mother to him, ever since the very beginning. She'd been the one constant in his life. Even when men hounded his blood, Marya never changed. The others had noticed the hunted look in Rhys's eyes; they'd recognized that he was much harder than any other child his age. They were afraid of him, even the teachers. Oh, he was widely praised--after all, he protected the weaker children from bullies, and whenever the church organized a charitable event, Rhys was the first to volunteer--But even when he was tending the sick or feeding the poor, people were as wary of him as of a lion. When he started wearing a sword, nobody commented on it--A sword looked _right_ on him, as though it belonged there, and no matter how much anybody feared, Rhys had never shed blood with it until this day. He'd never had to. The toughest strongarm or bandit in Cardia was dissuaded by the slightest hint of bare steel combined with the look in Rhys's eyes.

"You killed them, didn't you?" asked Marya

For the first time in years, Rhys allowed another human being to see emotion on his face. He made no effort to conceal the shock he felt.

"I've known from the very beginning, Rhys. You're a very special boy. A special man, I should say. It's time, I think, for you to learn the truth that I've kept from you all these years."

It was impossible. Marya would never lie to him.

"Eighteen years ago, just after you were born, I didn't have the wealth I do today. I was a prostitute, working the streets of Miletos. Your father came to me and offered me a job, taking care of you. I recognized him--He's one of the few men who offered me coin other than in return for my...services. Your father was a good man, a caring man..." She broke off.

"His name was Arnaud, wasn't it?" Rhys asked quietly. Marya nodded.

"Your mother was the problem. After the war, the Mullencamp didn't go away. As long as Miletos existed as a nation, they worked in the shadows, waiting for a chance to return to power. Your mother was a member of the Mullencamp. A police raid broke up a secret meeting of the cultists, and your mother was captured. When your father found out, he decided to go and rescue her. His love was so strong that he didn't care that she was a cultist...and your father was a remarkable man, just like you are. He inherited some power...I don't know how to tell you this..."

"My grandfather was Sydney Losstarot, wasn't he," said Rhys, feeling sick. Marya's expression was answer enough. The old man really had been Raistlin. Dear God..._Rhys_ had murdered the King of Cardia. It couldn't be true, yet it was.

"Your father told me to escape from Miletos with you. I came to Cardia, because that's the last place I thought Raistlin would look. Arnaud died trying to save his wife."

"You knew he was the son of Sydney Losstarot, and yet you helped anyways? God, you knew you were saving the _grandson of Sydney Losstarot_? You should have gone to Raistlin. You should have smothered me in my sleep before I had a chance to grow up!"

Now Marya looked angry. "Why? Because Sydney lost?"

"The man was a monster! He slaughtered, burned, and raped his way across Zeal!"

"A lesson you need to learn, Rhys, is that victors write history. I lived in Lea Monde throughout the war, and things were better there when Sydney was in charge. Yes, he did some evil things, but he wasn't as bad as the history books would have you believe. For all of his sins, he did provide stability. Besides, even if Sydney was a megalomaniac, that doesn't mean his descendents have to be. No matter what Sydney did, you deserve a chance to grow up, and to set your own course."

"Set my own course? I've become a monster, Marya! All this time, because I didn't know...I killed King Raistlin with my own hands!"

Marya nodded. "I recognized the staff you came home with. I hid it away in a safe place, where nobody who might recognize it would see it."

"Why? Why didn't you turn me in?"

"I, of all people, can understand you. You're not a bad person, Rhys. You've made some bad choices through ignorance, but you're not a bad person. I knew another person, once. Everybody thought he was the most evil creature alive, but he truly wanted what was best for everybody. God, mortal, and Andain alike..."

"Andain? What's an Andain?"

Marya smiled. "It's a name that has not touched a mortal tongue for many, many years."

Many years...suddenly, things all snapped together. Marya had lived in Lea Monde during the war. The war ended _forty-five years ago_. To top it all off, Marya didn't look a day older now than she ever had.

"Marya...How old are you?"

A sad look crossed her face. "I stopped counting after two thousand years."

"Two..._thousand_...years..."

Rhys looked deep into Marya's eyes, searching with all of his power. Not God's gift--Sydney Losstarot's. There was not a trace of deception there.

"My husband gave me the gift of immortality, although it was forbidden by all the laws of his people to exercise his power in that fashion. His last command to me was to live. Men hunted me through these very lands, lands which were once part of Maar Sul, for years because I was associated with Kagetsu and his perceived evil. Rhys...You and your father both remind me of Lord Kagetsu. You have the same inner strength, and both of you care deeply for your loved ones. Don't ever believe it's your destiny to be a creature of evil. You chart your own course. Go out into the world, and make something good of it.

Rhys's hand tightened on his sword. He'd killed two men today, and one other eight years before, and as it turned out, they'd been good men. To believe that he could right that...

"Promise me, Rhys. Promise that you'll live. Not just for me--for Lord Kagetsu and the memory of Maar Sul."

Rhys looked into Marya's eyes once more, and saw the gentle woman who'd always been there for him. He couldn't fail her in this.

"I promise," he said, and left his home for the last time.


	4. Rhys II

Losstarot  
_by Bleys J. Maynard_

* * *

_This work of fanfiction is intended to be an altiverse, not part of the official tGA history. Future members of the Gamer's Alliance Council need not ask permission to adopt this work into the tGA history; it is granted by this disclaimer_

_Rhys II_

"Enter," came Father Isaac's voice, and Rhys ducked into the Chaplain's tent.

"Ah, Rhys. I haven't heard from you in several days. What can I do for you?"

Father Isaac was the only one in the camp who seemed comfortable around Rhys, so Rhys came to him a lot, whenever he had any sort of problem.

"I'm having some problems with the orders we're getting, Father. I understand that the Provisional Government needs to demonstrate its strength, but this is nothing more than indiscriminate slaughter."

Father Isaac sighed. "I don't like it any better than you do, Rhys, but it is necessary. The Provisional Government is the legitimate law in Cardia, and the Church fully supports the rule of law. To do otherwise is to invite anarchy. We need to show strength to keep people from fighting against the rule of law."

"Those aren't soldiers we're killing, Father. They're feeble oldsters and children. I...I guess I just need some reassurance that what we're doing is the right thing."

Father Isaac smiled gently. "You're a good soldier, Rhys, and good soldiers need to trust their superiors, just as I must trust the High Priest. We're not the only ones fighting here, Rhys. The Church and the Provisional Government are trying to forge a future in which people can be happy and secure. Sometimes, though, there are people who will not see things as they truly are, and they rebel against those who try to build a brighter future for everybody. Have faith, Rhys. Faith will solve everything."

Rhys left the tent feeling no better than he had before. Faith had once seemed like a fine answer to him, but his faith had been twisted. Instead of God, he'd found himself bearing the power of a devil, and he'd slain the rightful King of Cardia, the one man who could have restored order to this country without waging the bloody war that Rhys was embroiled in now. Now, he lived to make good on his promise to Marya: To live, and make a positive difference in the world. Twelve years ago, he'd left his home and joined the Army, and for twelve years, he'd lived the hard life of a soldier. Now a sergeant-major, he started to wonder if he'd made the right choice after all. He'd seen oldsters with their heads smashed in at that last village, and every one of them had brought back nightmare visions of the rightful King of Cardia, lying in a pool of his own blood with Rhys's ten-year-old hand bringing the oldster's staff down again and again and again.

Rhys met his patrol partner, Corporal Mendegger, in the stables. "Yo, Rhys," called the rough-voiced soldier amiably. "Quite a warm day, it is, eh?" The man's breath stank of alcohol.

"You're drunk," growled Rhys.

"What of it, lad? A fellow's got to have a good time now an' again. It doesn't hurt no one if he does, I tell ya. All for the good, me lad. All for the good."

"Not on duty!" barked Rhys. "You're a soldier of the government of Cardia. You represent your nation!"

"A pretty good representation, I'd say, lad," said the Corporal, "The whole country's gone t' shit. The only way to stay alive these days is to be the strongest one around. Well, I'll tell you, I'm sick of it. A fellow's got t' get away from all the blood an' killin' and just unwind sometimes, you know?"

Rhys simply glared at the man. He spoke softly, voice filled with menace. "The only reason I'm not hauling you to the Colonel is that we've got to go out on patrol _right now_, and you'd better haul your weight. Tomorrow, you'll be up at dawn to do your laundry _and_ mine. If you're late, even by one minute, we go to the Colonel. Understood?"

The insolent grin slid off of Mendegger's face, and he swallowed audibly. "If that's the way y' want t' be, lad..."

The two men mounted up and rode out of the camp. They were to ride north for twenty miles, and then loop back via the Mill Road, and arrest or slay any brigands they encountered. Mendegger clearly thought that it was useless busy-work. Rhys didn't believe that there would be any incidents, but it was his duty to keep a sharp lookout, and he did. For the first ten miles, there was no traffic on the road save Rhys and Mendegger, but then they met a lone woman travelling the other way. Rhys started to ride right past her, but Mendegger dismounted and seized the woman by the arm.

"What do we have here?" he sneered, his hand darting for an object in the belt of the woman's robe that glinted in the sunlight. He produced an ornate dagger. "Look at this, Rhys. Synmaar clan crest. I think we've caught us a spy."

Rhys shook his head as he dismounted. "No," he said quietly, "No, Mendegger. It's not against the law to carry a Synmaar dagger."

"The Synmaar clan is seditious! They always say the government should be dissolved as incompetent!"

"It's not illegal to disagree with the government, either."

"Can you offer any evidence she's not a spy?" spat Mendegger, "Maybe I should haul _you_ before the Colonel as an enemy sympathizer!"

A dangerous light came into Rhys's eyes, but the woman spoke before Rhys could reply.

"Spy? How dare you accuse me! How d--" She cut off as she found the tip of her own dagger pressed up to her throat.

"Don't make me cut that pretty little throat of yours, dear," snarled Mendegger, "Just sit tight and be a good girl."

Ire flashed in the woman's eyes. "You miserable rodent," she growled.

Mendegger pressed the dagger into the woman's throat, right on the verge of drawing blood. "You don't want to make me unhappy, dear," he snarled.

"Enough, Mendegger," said Rhys, "That's quite enough."

"Enough out of you, Rhys!" barked Mendegger, "I'm placing an arrest here, and if you interfere, I can have you hauled before a magistrate. Just open your mouth once more and see if I won't!" Mendegger's eyes turned back towards the woman, whose eyes were now wide with fear. He drew a pair of wrist irons out of his belt and fastened them around the woman's wrists. "Now, dearie, why don't you tell me what you're doing on this lonely old road? The truth, of course, don't think I won't know if you're lying."

The woman spat in Mendegger's face. "You're a disgrace," she sneered, "It's people like you that turn the citizenry against the government!"

Mendegger grinned. "Now, now, dearie, you don't want to be _too_ spirited. I might just have to _get rough!_" Mendegger reached out with one hand and gripped the collar of the woman's tunic. "I might enjoy it if I have to get rough," he said with a leer, "But I promise you, you won't."

Rhys put his hand on his sword. "Mendegger, that's--!"

He was cut off as a lone figure hurtled out of the woods at the roadside and crashed into Mendegger. The man drew his sword and decapitated Mendegger with one single motion. Rhys hardly blinked--It was horrifying to see someone you know get killed, but he knew all too well that if he allowed himself to pause in shock, his head would tumble to the ground, too. Rhys drew his sword and faced off against the man. He was good, Rhys could tell, but Rhys had never lost, not when he was carrying the Ryuugumi-made _katana_ that Marya had given him on the day he left home. It had been Kagetsu's sword, she'd said. It was called _dokubaraken_, the Blade of the Poison Rose.

"Alec!" gasped the woman in recognition.

"Yo, Lorelei," called back Alec jovially, "Seems like I'm always just in the nick of time to pull you out of the fire, it does."

Rhys seized the moment of the man's distraction to make his attack. Moving like lightning, he lunged at Alec's midsection, bracing himself for the feel of his sword passing through flesh.

"Not bad," commented Alec. "Of course, perhaps I should have known by the weapon. Those Ryuugumian swords are pretty hard to master, even for an adept swordsman."

"I've never lost," replied Rhys smoothly. "Now, I've nothing against the Synmaar personally, but you slew an officer of the Federal Army. I have to put you under arrest."

"Oh," laughed Alec, "Is that so? Well, it appeared your friend was about to ravish this lovely young lady here--I couldn't very well permit that. I'm afraid I'm not willing to accept arrest."

"I didn't think you would be. We'll have to let the blades decide."

"I suppose we must. May I ask for my opponent's name? I'm--"

Rhys cut him off. "I don't want to know a dead man's name. As for me, I'm Lt. Rhys Lain of the Federal Army." Traditionally, it should have been followed by "son of Arnaud Lain," but Rhys preferred to forget who his father--and more importantly, his grandfather--had been.

The two men charged at once, each strike parried and each attack countered. For minutes, no blade tasted flesh, and the two combatants appeared locked in a dance as much as any battle. Finally, though, Rhys made first blood, with a long slash that slanted across Alec's face, narrowly missing his throat. Rhys relaxed for a bit. Even if he could only manage small victories at first, he'd wear out his opponent in time.

Alec advanced, grimfaced, and Rhys readied himself for the attack. He'd learned to predict what Alec was going to do from tell-tale movements that came a bare instant before the action--But even that bare instant would be enough, in time. Alec struck--and changed his attack in midstroke, sending Rhys's blade flying. Alec followed up with a solid kick that met Rhys's just above the point where the ribcage split. Rhys hit the ground with a crash, and found the other man's sword at his throat. It was over.

"As I was saying, Rhys Lain, I am called Alec Grandbell. You're a very good swordsman, but it seems you've not yet learned that no matter how good you are, there's always someone better."

"Alec, no," said Lorelei quietly. "This soldier stood up for me. He's not like the rest of the Feds."

"Is that so?" asked Alec, "Well, perhaps there must be men of honour, even in the Army. Farewell, Rhys Lain. If it's any consolation, for a time I thought that it was _I_ who'd finally met someone who was better than I. I hope we meet again someday."

Rhys lay on the ground with his eyes shut until the last sounds of Alec and Lorelei's departure faded away.

#

"Come in, Rhys," called Father Isaac.

"You asked for me, Father?" replied Rhys.

"We need to talk, son. It seems to me as though you've lost your faith in God, ever since Mendegger was killed."

"Maybe I have. I should have been dead, too, except that Grandbell _allowed_ me to live. Once, I thought I had a great destiny to do God's work, but now...if I'm part of God's design, why did He allow Grandbell to defeat me?" Of course, Rhys hadn't been in real danger--he could have used the _power_--but surely God wouldn't rely on the power of a monster.

"Perhaps he didn't. Perhaps it was a message from God that the way you've been thinking is mistaken."

"Mistaken?"

"You've always felt invincible, Rhys, and that's dangerous. Come the time for you to play your role in life, you may fail to take precautions because you feel they're unneeded. Maybe God wants to make sure you live to fulfil your destiny."

"By almost getting me killed?"

"Ah, Rhys, what mind can comprehend the will of God?"

The thunder of hooves on the ground brought Rhys's attention around. "What--? There should be no riders here!" He dashed out of the tent, hand on his sword.

"Rise and to swords!" shouted a grizzled old officer, "We're under attack!"

Rhys drew his sword and charged into the fray. He recognized the enemy's insigina--Scuns. The ancient nation of Scundia had declared its independence from Cardia earlier that year. But what were Scuns doing this far north? Scundia was on the southernmost coast of Cardia. They shouldn't have been able to travel so far north, not unless local anti-government milita were helping them. Rhys assessed the situation. It looked pretty grim. The Scuns outnumbered the army almost three to one. Rhys had already dropped five enemy, but he knew that not every member of the army could do that. Once, he would have charged ahead anyways, certain that God would grant victory to the army, but the words of Alec Grandbell danced through his head: _no matter how good you are, there's always someone better_. Were there any soldiers of Grandbell's caliber in here? Rhys didn't care to take the chance. He retreated back to Father Isaac's tent.

"Father," he said, "We're going to lose. We're outnumbered three to one, and almost surrounded. Scuns are polytheists, and don't hold much regard for the Church--We've got to get you out of here."

"Rhys," said Isaac uncertainly, "Your place is out there on the battlefield. I can make my way alone."

Rhys shook his head. "No. I can't risk it. One more sword out there on the battlefield won't make much difference--The Scuns will eventually win. My duty is to protect those unable to protect themselves. I have to give you a chance at life."

Father Isaac bowed. "Very well. And Rhys--thank-you."

Rhys simply nodded and escorted Isaac into the woods. There were horsemen here, but there weren't as many. Two helmeted Scun soldiers were conferring together in a clearing--They had just enough time to see Rhys come hurtling out of the shadows before their heads were parted from their bodies. Rhys boosted Father Isaac onto one of the soldiers' horses, and mounted the other himself. Pausing briefly so that father Isaac could say a quick prayer for the two dead scuns, they charged southward, towards safety. The forest ended abruptly and the two men found themselves on the banks of a river, with the midafternoon sun reflecting against the water, forcing Rhys to look away to shield his eyes from the glare. For one long, peaceful moment, there was silence, and then the sounds of pursuit could be heard in the distance. Rhys cursed inwardly. The river was blocking their escape.

"West seems safest," muttered Rhys, "but your guess is as good as mine. Do you know of any crossings nearby?"

Isaac shook his head. "I've never been this far north. We'll just have to take a chance."

Rhys nodded, and motioned for the priest to precede him. He unbound his horsebow from the saddle and nocked an arrow, ready to let fly as soon as the enemy came into sight. He hadn't long to wait. His first arrow dropped a horseman, but more were hot on his heels. The Scuns started firing, and an arrow struck Isaac's horse in the throat. Rhys leaped from his horse and snatched Isaac from the saddle, fearing that the horse's corpse would land atop the elderly priest.

"Thanks," panted Isaac.

Rhys looked around. There was no escape in sight. The Scuns weren't firing arrows anymore, but they had the two men surrounded.

"Father, can you swim?" he asked.

"A little, I suppose, but--"

"Then escape!" snarled Rhys, pushing the older man into the river in the hopes that the current would carry him to safety. Also in the hopes that the fall wouldn't kill the old man.

Isaac reacted instinctively, reaching out for anything to steady himself, and grabbed onto Rhys's shoulder. Surprised, Rhys was unable to brace himself for the sudden pull, and both men tumbled into the river below. Rhys struggled to place himself underneath Isaac in midair in the hopes of softening the elder man's fall with his own body.

Rhys felt the impact of his back against the water, and consciousness fled.


End file.
